


Under The Covers

by scapeartist



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Domesticity, F/M, Future Fic, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapeartist/pseuds/scapeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home from dropping Henry off at college after winter break, Emma is cold and needs a little warming up. Killian is happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under The Covers

**Author's Note:**

> After all the angst from the last couple/few episodes, I decided I needed to look forward to the day when the most angst Killian and Emma have is how they are going to fend off the winter chill. Needless to say, this little slice of married life takes place a bit into the future. This is about 60% domestic life and 40% smut.

The early January air is frigid with the wind coming off the harbor in freezing gusts, whipping powdery snow off the roofs and sidewalks of the sleepy town like mini tornadoes rising and disintegrating on a whim. Emma fumbles her keys as she tries to unlock her front door, her fingers stiff with the cold, and her eyes watering from the strong, sharp breeze cutting across her face, making it tough to see the opening in the lock. She shivers, wipes her eyes, and finally sets the key in its hole and turns it, pushing the door open just enough to slip in quietly and shut it before the force of the wind slams it open for her. Leaning against the door in the dark, listening to the wind bluster against the house, Emma sighs, grateful to be home again after her round trip to New York City. She tugs off her hat and leather jacket, hanging them on an empty peg near two smaller, hooded, winter coats, and one larger, black, wool, pea coat on the rack fascened on the wall next to her. Blowing on her hands to try to bring some warmth to them again, Emma heads down the hallway off the living room, aching to get into bed.  
  
Before she makes it to her room, though, she sees light coming from her daughter’s bedroom on the left, and opens the door as quietly as she can hoping not to wake her—or worse, catch her little night owl up reading past her bedtime again. Emma smiles, though, when she sees Kelly, sound asleep, her face a bookmark. Emma edges the book out from under her lightly freckled cheek, knowing how Kelly will just end up drooling on the page and be irritated when the ink has blurred and the paper puckered. She closes the well-worn copy of  _Charlotte’s Web_ , turns out the light, kisses Kelly’s coppery curls, and leaves the room.   
  
Across the hall, her son, J.P.—a rambunctious and inquisitive six-year-old—is snoring loud enough to rival a dragon’s roar, one pajama-clad foot sticking out from under his blanket (a trait he inherited from his father). She smiles noticing his arms and his other leg loosely circled around a giant squid pillow as if they’d been wrestling until he subdued the monster, but then exhausted from the battle, fell asleep mid-strangle. Emma steps lightly over to the boy, and kisses the riot of dark hair and fixes his blanket. J.P. sighs, mid-snore, and gives half a sleepy smile before rolling over, taking his squid with him and pushing his foot out from under the blanket once more. Closing his door behind her, and shaking her head in amusement, Emma continues to the end of the hall to her own room where Killian waits for her.  
  
Too tired to go through her usual nighttime routine, or dig out her pajamas from the pile of laundry sitting in a basket at the foot of her bed, Emma strips out of her travel-stale clothes, tosses them toward the chair in the corner of the room—missing it completely—and then all but dives under the covers, eager to leave the chill of the room behind. She loves their old Cape, but the window casings aren’t as weatherproof as she would like for a location so close to the waterfront and its damn near incessant wind during the winter months.   
  
Killian stirs when Emma scoots close, pressing the cool skin and peaked nipples of her breasts against his back, spooning him as she yanks the covers up to her ears then wraps her arm around his chest. His skin is so warm and inviting compared to her own goose flesh, she just wants to burrow into him.  
  
"Elsa, is that you, love?" Killian mumbles as he shudders at her touch.  
  
"Ha ha," Emma deadpans as she smiles into his shoulder blade and tugs his chest hair sharply, earning her a hiss in return.   
  
Killian laces his fingers with hers and kisses her knuckles before holding her hand tight to him, trying to warm her up.   
  
"Henry safe and sound back at university?" he asks, his voice still rough with the sleep she yanked him from so abruptly.  
  
"Mmmhmm. Happy to be back with the ‘real’ bagels and ‘good’ pizza."   
  
Killian chuckles and gives her hand a squeeze. “It was nice to have him home. He’s become quite the exemplary young man.”  
  
"In spite of everything he’s been through, yeah. He has."   
  
Killian’s words tug at her heart, warming her up in a different way than what she seeks, but it feels just as good. His and Henry’s relationship is one of the best things in her life, and she could not be more grateful for the ease with which they’ve always gotten along. Life as a mother, the Sheriff, and the Savior is difficult enough to reconcile on a good day without her son and her husband butting heads. But Killian loves Henry as much as he loves Kelly and J.P. and never fails to show it, which has made all the difference.   
  
Resting her cheek against his back, Emma can feel some of the cold finally melting away, and her skin warming to his touch. She sighs and snuggles closer, if that is even possible, just as he captures one of her legs between his.   
  
"Stop moving, Swan. You are freezing me over bit by bit," he chides her.  
  
Planting another kiss on his back, she murmurs, “Sorry.”   
  
He pats her hand and runs his forearm over her thigh a few times, and she relaxes into the rhythm. “How was the drive, love?” he asks.   
  
"Long. Boring. Uneventful," Emma mumbles. Her eyes are closed as she focuses on the feel of him and the heat spreading throughout her, and once again she’s thankful to be off the road and in her own bed with her own personal former-pirate.   
  
"Mmmm…And the patrol around town upon your return?"   
  
Emma snaps her head up and nudges him in the hip.   
  
"What?!…I…didn’t _patrol_ the town when I got back," she sputters.   
  
Killian flops over onto his back, keeping Emma close as he shifts the pillows and himself to get comfortable again. He arches his eyebrows and holds her gaze, “Aye? Then what do you call driving around checking up on your family and friends?”  
  
Emma blinks, furrowing her own brows in response. “How did you—”  
  
Ignoring her confused but somehow still indignant tone, Killian sits up so he is on his side facing Emma. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he smiles down at her and says, “I saw you drive past without stopping as I was about to get into bed. And then I tracked you on that app we have on our phones to be able to find each other in an emergency.”  
  
Knowing it’s pointless to deny her whereabouts, Emma crosses her arms over her chest and glares at Killian with a huff. “Well, since when is my ‘ _patrolling_ ’ an emergency?”  
  
Killian shrugs and gently pries apart her arms, settling the blanket around her again. “It’s not…until it is. As you well know. It’s not the patrolling I was concerned over. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t stopping in at the station as well when I knew you’d be tired. There is not a pile of paperwork in this town that needs perusing after midnight,” he says as he brushes his knuckles over the line of her jaw. “So? Everything ship shape, love?”  
  
Emma doesn’t leave Storybrooke often, but whenever she does, she worries they will be left vulnerable without her. It’s a fear that lives in the back of her mind rather than out in the open, but after a long stretch of villains threatening her loved ones and the rest of the town over the years, worrying is a hard habit to break. Checking on everyone first is the only way she can sleep soundly. She knows Killian understands, he just prefers that she take care of herself first. Her definition of what that entails is just different than his, but she loves him for it all the same.   
  
"Um hmm," she nods, unable to stop leaning into his touch no matter how irritated she is at getting caught doing her job after hours.   
  
"Good," Killian answers and kisses her quickly before laying back down. He lifts his arm and Emma slides into the space he makes for her, fitting her curves to his planes while pulling the covers up around her shoulders once more.  
  
"Did I miss anything while I was gone?" she asks him as she traces random patterns through his chest hair.   
  
"Well, there  _was_  an epic sea battle earlier this evening,” he informs her.   
  
"Oh, really?" she says, eyebrows raised at this news.   
  
"Aye. Admiral John Paul Jones defeated an enemy fleet as well as a kraken and a pod of mermaids. He’s quite the tactician, our lad. Sadly, however, more water ended up outside the tub than in, and I’m doubtful the boy is actually clean," Killian says, the smile evident in his voice.   
  
"Well, maybe we can have a reenactment tomorrow…I mean today…with a soap monster this time. He does love his bath toys…and sea battles. You obviously picked the right name for him," Emma laughed.

"Aye, that he does, and of course I did. Nothing can keep us Jones men from the high seas. It’s in our blood."  
  
"Or a deep bathtub, it seems," Emma comments under her breath. "And what about Kell? How was her day?"   
  
Killian already sounds like a doting father when describing J.P.’s bath-time heroics, but the pride in his voice when talking about his firstborn makes Emma grin even more. “You’d have been quite proud of our lass, love. You remember today was the start of her sword-fighting lessons with her grandfather and uncle at the school gymnasium after classes?” Emma nods. “Well, apparently she took down Neal in three moves. Your father was thrilled, but your brother was a bit put out.”   
  
Emma snorts, “I can imagine. I guess the prep you did with her paid off.”  
  
"Well, I wasn’t about to let my little girl go in there completely unprepared. Just goes to show I’m a better swordsman than your father," he brags, putting his hand behind his head, gloating about putting one over on her father, no doubt.   
  
"I’m not touching that topic with a ten foot pole," Emma declares, patting Killian’s chest.   
  
"Oh no?" Killian rolls onto his side again, running his hand over Emma’s hip as he whispers, "Well, then, perhaps I have something else you might enjoy touching that’s a tad closer?"   
  
Emma shakes her head, chuckling. “You just told me a minute ago not to touch you because I was freezing your ‘bits.’ Make up your mind, Captain.”  
  
"Yes, well, you’ve warmed up enough so I’m not shivering along with you, and it has not escaped my notice that you have been so kind as to show up to bed with nary a stitch on. I’d hate for this opportunity to go to waste when the children are so soundly asleep before we are. It is a rarity we should take advantage of. I’m sure I can finish eliminating any residual chill in your bones and help you unwind after your journey," he offers with a wink.  
  
"I _am_ still a bit keyed up…" she admits with a grin, snaking her arm around his neck.  
  
Killian nuzzles her cheek, planting light kisses on the path to her lips. “Well, then…where shall I start?” he breathes, his lips hovering above her hers.  
  
"My back  _is_  a bit sore from sitting so long in the car. Would you rub it for me?” she asks, punctuating her request with a lingering kiss.  
  
Humming for a moment before reluctantly breaking away, Killian says, “As you wish,” then leans back to give Emma room to turn over onto her belly.   
  
The sheets are warm and smooth against her breasts as Emma presses into the mattress, stretching from head to toe, her spine cracking as the disks pop and her muscles resist before accommodating her need to lengthen them after hours spent slouched over the wheel of her Bug. A cool tingle is followed by small licks of heat racing up her back and over her shoulders preparing her for Killian’s massage. As she gathers her pillow and rests her hands beneath it and her head, she feels Killian’s hand splay across the middle of her back, warm and steady on her skin. He begins to make long strokes from the small of her back to the space between her shoulder blades, then fanning out from one side to the other, working his way down in a languid, zig-zag pattern. She hums in satisfaction here and there, enjoying the feel of his fingers as they trail over her, seeking tightness and then pushing it apart with firm pressure from the heel of his palm. When he reaches the muscles of her lower back and digs in, she groans reflexively, practically dissolving into the mattress as the biggest knots begin to loosen and disappear. His massage is almost too successful as Emma fuzzily debates whether she’s more tired or horny.   
  
Killian laughs and leans down over her, kissing her back softly, ending all debate. His voice—which still turns her on like a like a well worn switch—makes her blood race, but it’s his fingers sliding over the rise of her ass and down between her legs, finding the finish line where her racing blood pounds, that seals the deal.   
  
"If you are going to make noises like that, love, you might want to think about shutting the bedroom door…and maybe putting up some kind of silencing spell. I don’t think interrupting our tryst by traumatizing our offspring is a priority this evening."

"Right," Emma says into her pillow. She pulls one hand out from under it and waves it at the door, closing and locking it. She doesn’t put up a silencing spell because as much as she doesn’t want to be heard, she wants to be able to hear them. Years of experience has taught her just how quiet she needs to be to let the kids sleep and still enjoy her time alone with Killian.   
  
And enjoy Emma does, as Killian’s deft hand and talented fingers easily find the spots that make her writhe and moan and crave more of him with every rub and caress and thrust, setting her alight in all the places that had been so cold not long before. She rises up on all fours, needing more than just clever fingers and whispers of what he desires exceeding her own. She reaches behind her, grasps his hip to pull him closer until he is inside her. She is meets him push for pull, wanting every inch of him inside every inch of her. Killian moves her hair aside to kiss the curve of her neck, steadying himself on the edge of the headboard, his forearm pushing against her hip to keep her aligned as she begins to lose herself in the sensations of her inner walls gripping his thickness with every push. Emma grunts softly as his movements become more deliberate, the pressure building and spiraling, always circling toward the point where their flesh meets again and again. Impatient, Emma reaches down between her legs, chasing that last bit of friction she aches for to set off the chain reaction that has them both gasping and shaking. Her muffled cries into the pillow are the counterpoint to his long, deep groan of satisfaction at their combined release.  
  
They both collapse back onto the mattress, Killian spooning Emma this time, their breath evening out as they settle in beneath the covers again. Killian kicks a leg out from under the comforter and busses Emma’s shoulder with his nose.  
  
"Warm enough now, love?" he murmurs.   
  
"For now," she yawns, pulling his arm tight around her. "But I hear it’s going to be even colder tomorrow night."  
  
"Is that so?" Killian asks through a yawn of his own. "Then I better get my rest now."  
  
"Good plan, Captain. You’re gonna need it. I’m patrolling again tomorrow and my back is going to be extra sore, too."  
  
"Aye, aye, Sheriff."

**Author's Note:**

> J.P. is named for John Paul Jones, father of the American Navy.


End file.
